фокус
by xXxDeathlySilentoOo
Summary: I can feel my lungs fill with polluted air , then empty as I attempt to keep breathing, I can see the fighting going on in front of my eyes but I know to ignore it. I can feel the sweat running down the side of my paling face, and the warmth of blood soaking through my shirt. My first Fanfiction. Flames will be accepted. Rated T for slight violence.
1. Introduction

Introduction

**A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first Fan Fiction of Hetalia or anything for that matter. I've been meaning to write one for the longest time but I've always either been too busy or too lazy. XD But now, since it's summer, I decided to finally get started. I know it's a short first chapter, but it is an introduction and I wanted to try and get used to how this website works, since it's a little confusing.**

**I do plan on making an update every week, and I also plan on making this a story with multiple chapters! So thank you to all who decide to read it and I hope you enjoy!**(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. And I do not own the cover image for this story. **

The sound of swords clashing together sounded throughout the forest. It was barely three o'clock in the morning, and it was difficult for the poor innocent man to see anything in this thick darkness. He was breathing heavily, glistening sword held tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping the sword's hilt. Sweat ran down his face, tears welling in his eyes, and his teeth clattering together. The forest grew silent; and the silence was torturing him, like the silence was tying him up in this one spot and making him sit still as he was hunted in the eerie forest.

The man's teary eyes grew wide, tears overflowing and slipping silently down his face as his torturer appeared, very suddenly, in front of him. He tried to slash at his teaser, a desperate attempt really, and let out a sob as the killer grabbed the offending blade with his bare hand, pulling the sword out of the man's hand and throwing it off deeper in the forest. The poor man gasped and cried, covering his mouth with shaking hands as he feel to his knees, the moon's light acting as a spotlight. The killer's lips began to move, but the man couldn't hear him over his pitiful sobs. "No! I don't want to die!" The man yelled out, shaking his head back and forth, the tears falling to the ground, the salty drops catching the light of the moon. His killer smiled softly down at his victim as he held his own sword in the air, preparing to make the final blow.

The old man heard soft humming and he looked up through blurry eyes, up at the killer's face. The tormentor's lips moved briefly, his arms moving downwards in seemingly slow-motion. The sound of metal breaking bone, paint splattering on the ground, a used body falling limp to the dirt, echoed in the now silent forest.

"You lived a good life," the killer sheathed his bloodied and dulled sword and turned away from the corpse, "may you rest in peace."


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey again! I am back with the first chapter! I think it came out pretty well, but I guess I should let the readers be the judges of that! I don't really have much else to say but thank you to those who have taken the time to read my story (or what there is of it anyway xD). Well, I doubt any of you are actually reading this, so I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters. This is pure fiction, and I only own the idea.**

_The yells of pain and agony echoed in my ears, the hot flames were licking at my skin, burning it until it went completely numb, the once healthy, creamy, porcelain skin was now burnt and cracked and sizzling painfully. I could not move – my legs were caught under a pillar that had burnt down not too long ago. I watched helplessly as everyone I ever knew—family, friends, acquaintances, enemies—ran off, trying to escape the intoxicating heat of the fire, coughing and wheezing, trying desperately to get out. It was futile though. The house had already, more or less, burnt down; all that was left to do now was to wait for my lungs to finally collapse. _

_But as I close my eyes, a thousand and one questions form in my mind all at once; _who set the fire? Why did they do it? Is this how I die? _I let out a strangled yell of frustration, preparing myself to crawl out from under this pillar, to run straight out of this burning hell, and kill those who started this. But as I tried to pull myself off the dirtied floor, I felt something, or maybe someone, lifting the pillar, that had once kept me captive, off of my crushed legs. Strong arms lifted me off the ground and held me close to a warm body. It was a warmth unlike the heat of the fire; it was comforting, in a way. _

_I heard the mystery person speak softly into my ear, but I couldn't quite understand what they were saying, but it was relaxing. I absently noticed the sounds of pained screaming; cackling fire and desperate sobbing steadily subside and become a thing of the past. I took this moment to open my eyes and look at this person's face, but as my vision darkened, I could only see their vibrant eyes reflecting the flames._

* * *

"-was found dead this morning, at approximately nine forty, by a young couple…"

"Isn't that the seventh victim this month?"

"Yes. Police say that the investigation is still on going and they strongly suggest staying in your houses during the night and keeping your houses well secured-…"

Matthew Kirkland, a fifteen year old transfer student from Canada, sat silently in his kitchen, lazily eating a bowl of cereal. He was absently watching the morning news, not fully registering what was being said. The news reporter – a tall American woman with blond hair, pulled back into a neat bun – and, from what Matthew could see, she had light, almost hazel eyes. She was talking, and seemed very intrigued, about a serial killer, publically known as "The inexorable killer". This killer— according to the police— only targets older men and only kills near a certain forest situated on the outskirts of the city.

"Matthew, please turn that off," came his father's voice as he entered the kitchen, "It's depressing." Matthew nodded idly as he pressed the power button, watching as the screen faded to blackness. He frowned and ate another spoonful of sugary cereal, drank the last bit of his orange juice then carried his dishes into the sink, rinsed them and set them to the side to wash later. "I see your brother isn't up yet… that boy," his father mumbled grumpily as he shook his head, taking a large sip of coffee. "I'll go get him." Matthew smiled as his father gave him a thankful look.

Matthew's parents were divorced; his mother was French and his father English. He lived with his mother for the first twelve years of his life, though, after an unfortunate accident, his mother passed away, and his father took responsibility over him. Luckily for William Kirkland, Matthew wasn't as… eccentric as his brother. Running his hands through his slightly knotted blond hair, Matthew walked down the hall towards his brother's door and knocked lightly—a sort of habit he inherited—before entering the dark room.

The room smelled of cologne and hamburgers, an odd combination in all honesty, and Matthew had a difficult time making his way to the windows with all the clothes and stuff lying around on the carpeted floor. He sighed and pulled open the curtains, allowing the morning sunlight to flood the room. He gazed over at his brother Alfred, sprawled out messily on his bed, still sleeping soundly under his superman covers. Matthew sighed quietly while shaking his head, walking over to the side of the twin sized bed and pulled the covers off his brother's body, earning him a half growl, half whine of protest. "C'mon Al, you have to wake up..." Matthew implored, grabbing the bridge of his brother's nose and shaking his head side to side, while growing frustrated. Alfred whined once more and turned on his side, but remained in bed. Matthew huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away from the bed.

"Dad made pancakes, but if you're not going to wake up, I'll have to eat them all myself." Matthew sang, a smirk forming on his lips as Alfred snapped awake and jumped from his bed, practically sprinting towards the kitchen. Matthew chuckled slightly, following his brother out of the room then turning to the bathroom to take a cold shower. A few minutes later, he stepped out feeling refreshed and wide awake. He dressed himself in a red and black T-shirt and a pair of casual jeans. Walking back into the kitchen to grab himself some lunch for later in the day, he giggled at the sight of Alfred sulkily eating some toast. "No pancakes?" At this, his brother glared at him grumpily but Matthew just laughed, while sauntering towards the main entrance of their fairly large home.

"I'm heading out now!" Matt announced, turning the doorknob and pushing it open. He was hit with a strong gust of wind as he opened the door, reminding him of the incoming storm. He retreated back in the house to grab his red jacket, pausing to watch as Alfred scrambled out of the bathroom and yelling a "I'll meet you there later!" over his shoulder. Matthew nodded and pulled the hood over his head then exited the warm house and into the cold wind outside. The wind was blowing quite viciously, blowing in all different directions, gusts of wind that were strong enough to pull trees out of the ground. Matt sighed, hugging himself to keep warm and keeping his head lowered to avoid getting dirt and smudges on his glasses as he trudged silently towards the public library.

* * *

The wind continued to blow violently and unabatedly. Looking up through smudged lenses, Matthew frowned at the sky that threatened to bring rain. He tightened his jacket around himself and thought back to the news report he had been watching earlier that morning. 'Seven victims just this month,' he thought, the sound of wind fading to the back of his mind, 'It's the seventeenth of November, so, theoretically, he kills someone once every three days.' A chill involuntarily ran down his spine as he heard a strange sound, something comparing to a strangled cat and a screeching donkey. Matthew paused in his walking and took a few moments to look around at his surrounding. He sighed shakily, beginning to feel paranoid and sped up his walking, and that's when he noticed the rain beginning to fall. He silently cursed his luck as he pulled his hood over his already dampened hair.

"Matt!"

Matthew once again paused and looked over his shoulder and was met with a very familiar face. Gilbert, one of Matt's closest friends from school, ran up to him with a fairly large black and white umbrella in his hand, holding it over his head to keep himself relatively dry. Gilbert originally lived in East Germany along with his mother and father. By the time his little brother, Ludwig, was born, they had moved off to the west. He had shaggy white hair and pale skin with eyes that easily compared to a shining ruby. "Ah, Gilbert," Matthew smiled at him apologetically, "sorry, I couldn't hear you."

Gilbert simply waved it off, seemingly uncaring as he held the umbrella over them both. "The awesome me will forgive you," he grinned at this and they began walking again, "where are you going in this weather, anyway."

"I was just heading to the library."

Gilbert snorted, "Studying again? On a school free Friday? Why am I not surprised," He grinned at his silently fuming companion.

"Yeah well, I really don't want to fail this History test."

"Why are you so worried? It's not like you have ever failed before," Gilbert paused for a moment as he walked up the steps to the library, "If there's anyone who needs to study, it's Alfred." They both snickered quietly at this, Gilbert closing up the umbrella and wrapping it up before they both headed inside. "By the way, what were you doing out in the rain?"

"I was headed to the store, but decided to honor you with my awesome presence." Gilbert replied in a thick German accent, taking a small bow. Matthew faked a gasp and held a hand to his heart, "Wow, I must be dreaming!" He said overdramatically. Gilbert snickered as he swung an arm over Matt's shoulder, pulling him closer. "So, where are we off to?"

* * *

The library was very quiet. Considering the amount of people inside, it was to be expected. Alfred had not yet arrived, not that that much time had passed. Matthew and Gilbert sat silently at a large table, Gilbert reading a book on Prussian history while Matt read on the wars of the world. '_The Cold War was a sustained state of political and military tension between powers in the __Western Bloc__ (the __United States__, its __NATO__ allies and others such as __Japan__...),' _Matthew read off the last page, taking mental notes of what he found to be important,_ 'and powers in the __Eastern Bloc__(the __Soviet Union__ and its allies in __Warsaw Pact__). China was originally close to the __USSR__ but __became distanced__ over the question of fidelity to __Marxism__...' _He rested his elbow on the surface of the table and held his head in the palm of his hand, boredly reading the words printed on the paper.

Closing the book, Matthew stretched his arms over his head and yawned. He stood from his seat and grabbed the book he had been reading, whispering a quick "I'll be right back," to Gilbert, who only nodded in response as he was too far gone in his book to say much of anything, then walked off to the history section. Walking through the book filled aisle, he put the book back where he found it fifteen minutes before, and went off to search for a new book. Adjusting his glasses on his face, he kneeled down to reach the bottom shelf but paused when a chill ran down his spine.

Matthew blinked and stood up at his full height, scanning his surroundings for anything out of the ordinary. But that's when he realized that he was no longer in the library. He took several steps back, eyes wide and suddenly feeling out of place. Matthew absently noted that he was in a forest, seeing as he was surrounded by trees, and that it was well past evening. As he glanced around, he spotted a dim glow in the far distance, and unwillingly began walking in that direction. His breath sneaked past his parted lips, creating a small cloud of mist that dissipated moments later in the cold air. Despite the cold temperature, Matthew didn't feel cold as he continued trudging towards the increasingly brighter light.

With every step he took, he heard voices growing progressively louder and clearer. The voices were hoarse, and strained slightly. Matthew could now see an opening to the forest. He couldn't see past the entrance, for it was blocked by a blinding light. The light was all he could see, all he could focus on, and he unwillingly began to move faster, but he couldn't feel himself walking, he couldn't feel anything. His right forearm covering his eyes, trying to block out the light, Matthew walked through the opening and exited the cold forest.

His purple tinted eyes widened at the scene he was met with. Burning hot flames engulfed a large section of the forest, along with a wrecked house. Boys, girls, adults and elders were set ablaze, crying, screaming for help. Some were running around helplessly while others lay motionless on the dried dirt path. How horrible, but Matthew didn't move. He couldn't. He wouldn't. His eyes were fixed upon the scene, his spectacles clearly reflecting the light of the flames. One particular person, a person set on fire, much like the others, ran up to Matthew in a panic. Matthew didn't know who it was, didn't even know their gender. Their face was already burnt black and beyond recognition, every last thread of hair had fallen from their head, every inch of skin was blistered and bleeding or black and crunchy like a piece of bread that had been left in the toaster for far too long. The person grabbed onto Matthew's shoulder with their shriveled hands, frantically shaking him with what little strength they had left. "_Please help us, Matthew."_ Their voice was surprisingly clear, though it sounded as if there was more than just one person alone talking. Their voice was both high pitched and low pitched and childish all at once. But how did they know his name? Matthew's clouded eyes were wide as the person continued to cry and scream and shake him, repeating his name over and over in that frighteningly clear voice.

"_Matthew."_

"_Matthew...!"_

* * *

"Matthew!"

A loud gasp suddenly ripped through Matthew's throat and his eyes grew wide once more, dropping the book that he had been holding tightly to his chest. He felt hands on his shoulder and he quickly slapped them away. He took several large steps back, his vision swimming, and he went to grab a bookshelf to steady himself. He was gasping for breath, as if he had just run a marathon, but he couldn't seem to regain control over his breathing. _Calm down,_ he demanded to himself, holding a hand over his heart and closing his eyes. He took a deep breath, letting it out again through his nose and felt his beating heart slow to a normal pace. Only then did he hear his brother talking in a rushed voice. Though Matthew couldn't quite understand what Alfred was saying, he could tell he had been worried. The only times where Alfred babbled on like this was when he was worried or guilty of something.

"-and you were just standing there so I thought I'd try to scare you...-"

Matthew sighed shakily as he slowly opened his eyes to look at his brother and realized that Gilbert was also standing there, crimson eyes wide and staring at Matthew with an unreadable expression plastered on his face. A small bead of sweat had gathered at his brow line and he was a lot more quiet than usual.

"-I kept calling you but you didn't answer so I went to get Gilbert...-"

Matthew shook his head slightly, patting his brother lightly on the shoulder and smiling apologetically, his golden waves of hair falling gracefully over his purplish eyes.

"Sorry to worry you." Matthew wearied, and was slightly taken aback at how tired he sounded. He let his arm fall back to his side almost immediately, taking a small step back while grabbing at the bookshelf once again for comfort.

"What happened exactly?" Gilbert questioned, his voice holding a heavier accent than usual. Matthew's smile slipped from his face and he looked down at the book he dropped only minutes prior. With a hand touching the bookshelf, for he felt he'd fall if he were to let it go right now, Matthew bent down and picked up the book in his other hand and examined it carefully. The book was old, the cover was made of a brown leather and felt as if it could be easily ripped apart if not held delicately enough. The cover was blank save for the golden pattern that ran along the edges. Carefully rolling the book around in his two hands, he spotted writing at the bottom of the back cover: "_Property of Lawrence Williams_". It was fancily written in golden, cursive letters. The name was somewhat familiar, though Matthew decided not to ponder on it.

He showed the book to Alfred and Gilbert, hands shaking only slightly. "I remember pulling this from the shelf..." He fell silent once again as Gilbert gently pried the book out of Matthew's hands and into his own. His eyes were shining curiously as he opened the book, scanning over the cursive writing that was tattooed onto the stiff page. "...It looks like some kind of diary." Gilbert stated aloud, handing the book back to Matthew. "Who's diary?" Alfred asked. Matthew absently noted, as he glanced at his brother, that his glasses caught the reflection of the artificial lights of the library. The reflection was blocking out his eyes. Matthew quickly pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and looked back down at the book. "I'm guessing it's this Lawrence Williams."

A sharp intake of breath was heard. Gilbert and Matthew glanced quizzically at Alfred who was facing away from them and exiting the aisle. They both blinked simultaneously and looked at each other before following Alfred out of the aisle. "Where are you going?!" Matthew exclaimed from beside his brother, book still in hand. "I have to go see dad." Alfred replied curtly.

"What? I thought we were going to study for that test."

"No time right now, bro. Maybe la-"

"Alfred! You need to pass this test..."

Gilbert watched them walk off, with a grin plastered across his lips. He walked back to the table he sat at beforehand, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. "So much for studying," he muttered grabbing the book he was reading and placing it back in a random spot on a bookshelf, "not that I really needed to." He laughed his strange laugh and headed after the other two, calling out a "You weren't going to leave the awesome which is me alone, were you?", then getting shushed by the librarian.

And thus the three exited the silent library, oblivious to the heterochromic eyes that had been watching them.


End file.
